A God's Last Death

Hunting Time

"You're telling me that one of the most wanted men in the city might have honored us with his presence last night, and we are so incapable of knowing that in the first place?" Noah slams his palm on the desk. A gesture that doesn't really help in any way.

"And we were so rude not to show him how good hosts we are?" the captain slams her palm on the desk too.

Are we holding any hit-your-hand-on-something competition here I should be aware of?

"That's right, ma'am," I nod my head. "It was little after seven when I detected movement from the second floor and went up to investigate. When I reached the broken window, I spotted him moving in the shadows and I threatened him with my gun. As he went to escape from the window, I shot him once, but it seemed that didn't have any effect on him. He managed to flee." I refrain from mentioning my conversation with the criminal because it wouldn't look so professional. I have a reputation to uphold, and I can't give food to the craws.

"And you're sure he had the same tattoo on his palm?"

"Yes, ma'am. A vortex."

"Captain! You might want to see this!" a voice calls from the room in the far end of the corridor.

We give each other a knowing look and immediately rush to see what's wrong. No sooner have we entered the room than we see a huge vortex painted on the wall, black lines on a white surface.

"He'll most likely be wounded. Notify all the hospitals, small clinics, pharmacies, everyone in a twelve-mile radius. I want to know anything that's going on around here. Dispatch all units. It's hunting time," the captain says and marches back to her office, with a furious Noah close behind her.

And I remain staring at the graffiti on the wall, wondering if this is going to be my last big mission as a detective.

. . .

Not long after, the instructions arrive at the workstation from the captain, and as always, I can feel their excitement mounting to the roof. I take a close look at my papers. No matching fingerprints. No leading clues. Like I expected. The forensics' report is a useless piece of trash.

I drop the file on my desk and snatch my coat. I won't let that bastard roam free. This has become personal. As I head for the station's exit, I remind myself that eventually every hidden thing is found. And I'll be the one to find him.